


An Exploration of the "Dying" Part

by IndigoFudge



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Aughhhhh, Bleeding Out, Character Death, Dead Eddie Kaspbrak, Dying in Their Arms, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Love Confessions, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is Bad at Feelings, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Soft Richie Tozier, count all 8 similes and analogies i make within 1k words, it isn't explicitly stated but i'd like you to know richie's feelings Are In Fact Requited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29280690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoFudge/pseuds/IndigoFudge
Summary: “Eds,” says Richie, in a whisper gentle like he’s trying not to knock down a house of cards. “Eddie. Eddie.” He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to say Eddie’s name purely, before it will all of a sudden carry the weight of death.•Richie's experience of Eddie dying, and how the death toll that day was actually one-and-a-half.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	An Exploration of the "Dying" Part

**Author's Note:**

> TW for character death, blood, heavy grief, angst, etc; and also s**cidal thoughts (if you squint),

Eddie’s lying in Richie’s arms, and he’s dying, and he’s almost completely gone. His eyes are heavily lidded; his chest rises and falls in strained breaths. Blood stains his chin and the front of his shirt. _He isn’t dead yet_ , Richie keeps telling himself. _You still have a bit more time with him. You can still talk to him. It’s not too late._

“Eds,” says Richie, in a whisper gentle like he’s trying not to knock down a house of cards. “Eddie. Eddie.” He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to say Eddie’s name purely, before it will all of a sudden carry the weight of death.

“Yeah,” sighs Eddie. He sinks down into Richie’s lap, and the blood and life and everything is leaving him, and _he’s_ leaving, and Richie isn’t ready and will never be ready because no one can be ready for something like this.

“Eddie.” Richie says his name again. “Eds, don’t look at me like that.”

Eddie half smiles, reaching up with his right hand and touching Richie’s face. “Like what?” he says, but he knows, and Richie knows he knows, and neither of them are saying it out loud because that would make it real. Eddie's hand drops, his energy rapidly dwindling like campfire embers in late hours of the night.

Richie grasps Eddie’s numb fingers tightly and desperately, clutching onto them like he can keep him forever. “Stop,” he says. “I know what you’re thinking.” Eddie’s doe eyes are hidden and guarded, but they've always been as easy for Richie to read as the reflection of trees in the quarry water.

“Should have been a mind reader, then,” Eddie murmurs. “Hell of a lot more respectable than a _stand-up comedian_.” He grins bigger now, eyes crinkling in the way they always did, dimple appearing in the cheek uncovered by a bandage.

“Fuck you,” Richie says because he has to. He runs his mouth like a windup toy and doesn't think about what he says next until he's already said it. “Like you did any better in life.”

Eddie’s smile droops. He swallows, fingers moving in Richie’s grip. “Don’t.” His voice is low and soft. “Not now.”

The dam in Richie’s chest breaks. Tears slip and slide down his cheeks. “Shit, Eds, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Guilt makes his throat close up. _Real fucking nice, Trashmouth, woo, you've gone and upset the guy who only has minutes to live._

“No, it’s just-“ Eddie’s breath catches. He considers his words carefully. “You, Bev, Ben, Bill. You all did something, you all got somewhere. Stan didn’t. Mike didn’t, but he will. I... I didn’t, and I won’t ever get to.”

Richie chokes on a sob. “Eds,” he manages. He doesn’t know what else to do but lie through his teeth. “You will. We’re gonna get you out of here.” Once more: “We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Eddie just shakes his head. “You’ve always been such a shitty liar, Rich.” He tenses suddenly. A coughing fit overtakes him; bright red blood bubbles past his lips.

 _You still have more time with him_ turns into _your time is up you fucking coward_. Richie leans forward, panic constricting his lungs. “Hey, hey. Eds. Come on. Eddie- _Eddie-“ A_ nd the confession won’t leave his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue. He can’t spit it out. His time is up and he’s wasted these last precious moments with empty comforts and meaningless jokes. Meaningless, not because he didn’t pile intent behind them - he did, he filled the silence with so many sentiments disguised as lighthearted cracks, masking things he couldn’t say with things he could. No, meaningless because despite the current circumstances, Richie kept his emotions so well hidden that even _Eddie_ didn’t stand a chance of being able to see past the facade. So they truly were worthless. Richie Tozier’s final act, the most reprehensible one yet, was to lie to a dying man.

 _Final_ act. This isn’t only the end of Eddie’s life. It’s the end of Richie’s, too. Not in as literal of a way, of course, but... up until now, whether Richie knew it or not, he and Eddie have been walking side by side. Even during the forgetting, Richie had the concrete vagueness of childhood to fall back on, to breathe in like Eddie’s camphor water. Now for the first time, he will have to navigate things _truly_ alone.

Eddie gazes up at him helplessly, shaking with the effort it takes to breathe, with the effort it takes to _try_. “Rich,” he gasps out, eyes drifting closed.

It occurs to Richie that Eddie’s just used some of his breath to say _Rich_ , that Eddie’s dying word could have just been _his name._ Like a thump on the back, that works to allow the useless admission (a Band-Aid on a gunshot wound, really, all things considered) to tumble out of him. “Eddie I love you,” he says, four words, four of the most important words he’s ever spoken and ever will speak.

Eddie’s mouth twitches into a smile. One last smile, the best and worst thing Richie has seen in his entire life. He doesn’t say anything else - _can’t_ \- but he does flash open his eyes briefly, giving Richie a knowing look.

(Richie’ll agonize over this look for the rest of his years, running dry every reason, gathering every possible bit of meaning from Eddie’s vulnerable expression. _What could he have been trying to say,_ he asks himself over and over until he doesn't know how to ask anymore.)

Eddie slightly furrows his brows. He wheezes horribly, and his chest shudders to a still; his grip tightens and loosens sporadically on Richie’s for several moments like he keeps forgetting to hold on _._

Then he’s gone all at once. Parts of him, the heartbeat part and the breathing part, were slowing down before - leaving before Eddie could. But _he_ stayed until he couldn’t anymore. He was _Eddie_ until the very end. And Richie can sense it when he’s not, can feel it like he's aware of his own blinking.

As far as dying goes, it’s pretty anticlimactic. A pulse stops. Eyes close. After a while, brain waves cease. Things go from ' _well they might breathe in a little and come back to me'_ to ' _they're all the way gone for good.'_ It’s the moment when whoever is unfortunate enough to witness something like this lingers on the cusp of denial, tilting dangerously to either side until the weight of it pulls them down one way or another.

But the sight of it, the awful heavy intensity, has been frozen and stamped on the backs of Richie’s eyelids permanently - for him to see eternally whenever he blinks, like some acidic aftertaste of the deadlights.

“I love you, Eddie,” he says again. “I love you.”

It doesn’t bring Eddie back. Never will.

**Author's Note:**

> you can get mad at me on Twitter (@eddiecatsbrak)


End file.
